Bryony Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
by Jenshu
Summary: The Potters have not a son, but a daughter. How can one small detail change the events of a story?


Title: Bryony Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Author: Jenshu

Type: Multi-chaptered fic

Word Count: 2132

Rated: K

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: All original Harry Potter ideas and related such goes to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Bryony woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Bryony stretched upwards, her right hand knocking against the light fixture hanging low above her bed.

"Ow," she muttered, shaking the pain out of her hand. She blinked sleepily at the window as her brain rebooted. A bird which looked very much like an owl fluttered past in the distance. Bryony pondered the owl's oddly anti-nocturnal behavior. Perhaps it was still early enough to be called night?

"Are you up yet?" Aunt Petunia was back at the door.

"Nearly," replied Bryony, a yawn forming mid-word.

"Oh Petunia, leave the poor child alone," grumbled another voice. "It's too bloody early for this nonsense!"

"Hmph! Well, I never!" Aunt Petunia's voice exclaimed as she retreated.

Bryony fell, face-down, back onto her bed in relief. It was much too early to be walking around and doing chores for her aunt.

By the time she had dressed and gone down the stairs and into the kitchen, the enticing smell of eggs and bacon was already diffused throughout most of the house. Bryony eyed the table full of haphazardly stacked gifts in the corner interestedly. Hopefully Dudley had gotten some decent gifts this year for her to _share _with him. There were several large packages whose wrapping did nothing to conceal their identity. It seemed that there was a computer, a television, and a racing bike, of all things. Bryony supposed Dudley had taken her comment, that it was a little late in the game to be calling his chubby excess weight 'baby fat,' to heart.

Perhaps it was the warm sun filtering in through the window to her bed every morning, or the new skin care products Uncle Vernon had procured for her just last month, but Bryony felt absolutely lovely. Not only was her skin glowing, but she seemed to be adopting a lither figure; likely indicative of a fast approaching growth spurt. It had also become a recent habit of hers to secretly sift through Aunt Petunia's old dresses and alter them to wear. Bryony's bright red hair, which had been getting a bit long, was lying in a neat braid over her left shoulder. The long red strands framing her face seemed to bring light to her hazel eyes. Bryony adjusted her dress using the reflection in the windowpane.

"What is that on your face?" Aunt Petunia had entered the kitchen.

"What? Nothing." Bryony tried to rearrange some loose strands of hair to cover her forehead.

"Young lady, are you wearing my makeup!" Aunt Petunia thundered. "What gives you the right to touch _my _things?"

Tears welled up in Bryony's eyes. She had only wanted to cover up that _ugly _scar she had. It was angry, and red, and vile, and none of the other little girls in school had anything like it. A teacher had once tried to tell her that it made her special, but she knew better. It made her hideous.

She didn't even know how she'd gotten it.

"Probably by being the clumsy klutz you always are," Aunt Petunia had said. "And don't ask questions."

That seemed to be Aunt Petunia's daily mantra: Don't ask questions. It was in this one respect that Uncle Vernon seemed to agree with his wife. For when Bryony had tried to beseech him for answers, he had merely grunted nervously and turned away.

"Mother!" Dudley seemed to have squashed his way into the kitchen, making the small space infinitely more cramped. "Don't speak to Bryony that way."

Aunt Petunia's expression faltered. "But Dudley darling, I –"

"Don't!" Dudley's porky face had begun to redden with anger.

Aunt Petunia's gathered herself up, and rearranged her expression into a smile. "Of course, dear. Happy birthday."

Dudley smiled back. "Is this it, then?" He asked, pointing towards the table groaning under its weight. He frowned a little, his features scrunching up in frustration. He seemed to be attempting to size up the contents.

"How many are there?"

"Thirty-six."

"Thirty-six?" He said, looking up at his mother. "But that's two less than last year!"

Bryony scoffed from her seat at the table. This caught Dudley's attention as his head whipped towards her sharply. Bryony pretended she hadn't noticed. There was a long, pregnant, pause.

"I suppose… thirty-six is a lot of presents," Dudley admitted slowly."

Aunt Petunia's face lit up in relief. "I could get you a few new presents while we're out today, popkin. How does that sound?"

"No – that's okay," replied Dudley, glancing nervously over at Bryony.

"That's my boy!" Uncle Vernon slapped his son on the back, forcing him to take an unexpected step forward. "Little tyke's just wants his money's worth, isn't that alright Bryony?" He took a seat at the table, and opened up the morning paper, chortling.

"I suppose," replied Bryony as the phone rang. Uncle Vernon went to answer it.

"Bad news, Bry. Sarah's mother's had a last minute emergency. You can't go shopping."

Bryony's mouth opened in shock. She had so been looking forward to going shopping with her friend Sarah from school. Every year on Dudley's birthday was Bryony's one day of salvation. While Dudley went out with his friends to do ridiculous boy things like action movies and adventure parks, Bryony was allowed to have a day to herself to do whatever she liked. She had been so excited to ogle at some of the designer shoes that were sure to be on display at the local shopping center.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, glaring furiously at Bryony. No doubt she had been looking forward to a nice long day away from her niece. "We could phone Marge?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Petunia, she hates Bryony." Uncle Vernon sighed resignedly. "Would you mind terribly, coming to the zoo with us, darling?"

"Absolutely not!" Exclaimed Bryony, her face puffing up with anger.

Just then, the doorbell rang. "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" Aunt Petunia wrestled her way around the presents to get to the door. Shortly thereafter, Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss, entered the kitchen with his mother. His nose wiggled as he tried to smile with his rat-like face.

"Hullo Bryony," he said shyly. Dudley immediately stood up, blocking Piers' view. Uncle Vernon clearned his throat. "Let's get going, shall we?"

Aunt Petunia pulled Bryony aside.

"I'm warning you," she said, bringing her bulging eyes just millimeters away from Bryony's. "I'm warning you now, girl – any funny business, anything at all, and I'll put you in the cupboard under the stairs from now until Christmas!"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" said Bryony.

Aunt Petunia glared at her. Of course, Bryony knew exactly what her aunt was going on about. Strange and mysterious things often seemed to happen around Bryony. There was just no point in trying to tell Aunt Petunia that she had nothing to do with them.

Once, Aunt Petunia had tried to make her wear Dudley's old hand-me-downs to school. She had forced the old grey shirt over Bryony's head, only to find that Bryony was suddenly wearing Aunt Petunia's blouse, while she was now wearing the hand-me-down! Bryony had laughed herself to tears wishing that she had a camera to commemorate the moment. She had gotten nothing but disgusting vegetables to eat for the next two weeks for that stunt.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had caught Bryony stealing some food from the kitchen in the middle of the night. When she went to put the deli meat back, she found that the floor had suddenly turned to ice, and slipped wildly across the kitchen, flailing her arms in every which way. Uncle Vernon had turned up to see what the ruckus was only to stand in shock, watching the spectacle but doing nothing about it.

Sometimes Bryony tried to convince herself that these memories were just the thing of dreams. Sometimes they seemed to be just that, as neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon dared to speak of the incidents. They seemed afraid to acknowledge them as if that would make them a reality.

Presently, Uncle Vernon was loudly complaining to Aunt Petunia in the front seat. Uncle Vernon's favourite topic of discussion was complaining. Uncle Vernon swore as someone cut him off.

"Young hoodlums on motorcycles!" Roared Uncle Vernon as he shook his fist out of the open window.

"I like motorcycles," said Bryony, a memory of something flickering in her mind. A dream, perhaps? "Imagine what fun it would be if they could fly!"

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" Shrieked Aunt Petunia. Her voice cracked and her face seemed to be turning purple. Bryony had learned over the years that the Dursleys had a special place in hell for imagination and fantasy.

"Bryony, it doesn't do to think ridiculous thoughts," added Uncle Vernon sternly. "Airplanes are unnatural enough without adding motorcycles to the mix."

Bryony slumped back in her seat. "I was only saying," she tried. Dudley squeezed her hand in a brief moment of solidarity, but quickly snatched it away, remembering himself.

They arrived at the zoo shortly, and as Bryony stepped out of the car, a great gust of heat washed over her. Her sulky mood returned as she remembered that she would be spending the day ogling smelly animals and sweating profusely. She fell back behind the group to avoid Dudley and Piers, who gave her the odd feeling that they were staring. Bryony walked along slowly, sipping from her modest ice water, and recoiling at the mass of sticky ice cream Dudley had managed to get all over his face.

To Bryony's relief, after lunch, the group headed over to the reptile house. It was air conditioned, dark and cool. Dudley and Piers wandered off to find the deadliest reptile in the zoo, while Bryony wandered off in the other direction. Her feet were sore from walking around all day and she was quite tired. She stopped and leaned against a bit of glass, resting her hands against her knees.

Bryony sighed, "I wish I could have gone shopping instead."

There was a slow hiss, and out of the corner of her eye, something slithered. Bryony jumped back from the glass – this was a display window!

"Eugh!" She exclaimed. The snake was huge and scaly. It seemed very menacing, and Bryony was very sure it could kill her instantly if it so chose. Thankfully it was behind glass.

"How rude."

"Eh? Who said that?" Bryony whisked around looking to see who had spoken, but there was no one in the vicinity. The trouble was that the voice had come from the other side of the glass. Bryony turned back to the snake which seemed to be staring intently at her. This was insane – snakes couldn't talk.

"I'm sorry," she tried. "Did you say something?"

The snake's tongue slithered out as she head "I said – how rude." Bryony jumped. "It was the snake!"

"Oh… I'm sorry?"

"You don't sound very sure," the snake commented.

Bryony stared. "Well you sound very pretentious."

There was a pause, and then a strange sound which sounded very much like… laughter. "Clever girl. You'd make a good snake."

"PIERS, PIERS COME LOOK AT THIS SNAKE!" Suddenly Dudley and Piers were on either side of Bryony pressing their faces against the glass, staring at the snake, banging on the glass.

"Do it again! Move!"

Bryony was pushed aside by Dudley in his excitement, and she fell to the floor. She was unused to Dudley's lack of attention to her and her well-being. Honestly, she found herself incensed that a mere snake could be considered better than she. She was angry. Angry that she was at the zoo, angry that she was on the floor. Angry about everything.

"Ah!" Bryony looked up. There was a great splash as Dudley fell through the now seemingly nonexistent glass into the little pond in the display. The snake it had housed slithered excitedly out and away, hissing menacing at passer-by.

"Brazil, here I come… Thankssss, amigo." Bryony stared after it, drenched and shocked. Had she done that?

Aunt Petunia unleashed her fury once Piers had been sent home.

"I warned you," she had said. "I told you no funny business, you ungrateful, wretched girl!"

"But I –"

"How _dare_ you endanger my Dudley's life?!" Aunt Petunia was beside herself with anger. And no amount of attempting to explain could calm her down. Not that there was much explaining to do. Bryony had no idea what had happened. Had she gone loopy for a few minutes? There was no way that snakes could actually talk… was there?

That night Bryony went to bed with nothing but a small plate of carrots for dinner. And it was the same for many nights thereafter.


End file.
